Until The End
by flower gettin' lady
Summary: pre-Angels Take Manhattan. Amy and Rory enjoy a quiet moment on the TARDIS while the Doctor thinks of past companions and loneliness. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. **

**A/N: I have to write this… because of reasons. So bear with me, okay/ I just wanted to give everyone something sorta-happy, but angst-ridden too, right before "The Angels Take Manhattan" since I'll be so devastated after. **

**Oh, expect an angst-y fic sometime after that airs.**

**If this seems sad… I wrote it while listening to "The Dream of a Normal Death" by Murray Gold. That man is a genius.**

There were very rarely quiet moments on the TARDIS. The Doctor blamed it on all the wonderful places he _had_ to visit ("Yes, Amy, I _have_ to, I literally can't not go!"), Amy blamed it on what she thought must be a combination of a sugar and caffeine addiction, and Rory blamed it on really bad karma. Whatever the case, the two Ponds were relived that the TARDIS had chosen now to break down.

The Doctor was beside himself; sonic buzzing every few minutes, he was below the control panel, tinkering away. Occasionally they'd hear him mumbling to himself, something about "being impressive." Amy snorted at that.

"Thinks he's so cool." She remarked, leaning back into Rory. He was on the seat by the control panel, Amy with her head against his chest as she looked up to the ceiling. It was gorgeous, covered in nonsensical symbols. Figures danced about, and sometimes they appeared to be walking in or out of a small box. She wondered if they were the tales of companions passed, and why none of them seemed to have an ending.

"Yeah, he does." Rory trailed soft fingers through her hair. It was breathtakingly perfect, that moment. He wished that the Doctor would just them float forever in the time vortex, so that he wouldn't have to worry about Amy ever being hurt.

She sighed a little, shifting so she could look at him. Her beautiful, beautiful Rory. His face had always been around her, so long, until it was engrained in her mind and became the most gorgeous face in all of existence. That gorgeous, beautiful, stupid face. "Do you ever wonder about what he did, before us?"

"'Course I do." Rory said, craning his neck to look up at all the drawings. "I think that he's known a lot of people before us."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Amy's eyes wandered, from a Doctor in a funny scarf to one proffering what seemed to be a jelly baby to an alien to a Doctor watching a girl with love written all over his face. They were so realistic, but uncolored, as though they were memories of a dead man. "I wonder why they all left…"

But really, she didn't. She knew that the Doctor must've dropped them back home like he had done with her and Rory, or maybe they just never made it back to the TARDIS safely. It wasn't a surprise that there were no endings. None of them had ever ended well, so why dwell on it?

"You know what?" Rory asked. "I think that they all had to move on. But I don't think that anything bad happened."

"Because he's the Doctor, and he never lets bad things happen to his friends." Amy concluded with a watery smile. She finally found her place on the massive ceiling. There wasn't much—just a drawing of a small, ginger girl. Colors spread out from the drawing, tendrils touching a picture of a Roman guarding a box, and of the Doctor, Rory, and Amy all standing, laughing at something. "You think he knows that's up there? Did he put it there, or was it the TARDIS's idea?"

"The TARDIS can think?" Rory asked, expression clearly showing that he wasn't exactly okay with that idea.

Amy nodded. "Yeah. So, do you think it was her, or him?"

Rory had no answer for her, because there was no way to really know. The Doctor never told them much. He knew so much about the two of them; there first date, what food they liked, what scared them the most, how many times he'd gotten them into really bad situations… he knew everything. All they knew was that he was a Timelord from Gallifrey, and that he was lonely.

No longer wanting to dwell on it, Amy, in a much louder and cheery tone, said, "So, Mr. Pond, what do you want to do while we wait for repairs to finish?"

"Hmmm…" Rory pretended to ponder it. "Maybe we could make our way to the bedroom. What do you say, Mrs. Pond?"

The snickered when the Doctor appeared, visage swamped in horror. "Really, you two, have some respect! Imagine how the TARDIS feels!"

"Kidding, kidding." Amy amended. "We'll stay here, if you want to keep an eye on us." She settled back, head in Rory's lap, yawning. He continued to gently comb through her hair with his fingers, attempting—and failing—to plait the scarlet locks.

"Well… all right." The Doctor vanished.

Once he was gone they began talking again. "So, no plans in particular?"

"Nope." Amy's eyes fluttered shut. "Just going to enjoy the quiet—" something below made an ominous grinding noise, "—the _almost_ quiet as long as I can."

And so they both did, because nothing in the world could go wrong.

**DW~DW~DW~DW**

The Doctor wasn't really fixing anything—well, aside from putting a few safeguards to make sure the chameleon circuit wouldn't suddenly repair itself. That would be a shame.

What he really was doing was eavesdropping, and trying to avoid going anywhere. Ever since their last excursion he'd had a feeling in his gut, a feeling that something wasn't right. Having his trusty Ponds and the entire universe to see should have been brilliant, but he felt more apprehensive each trip. It was always a close call, or a kidnapping, or some simple food-and-poison mix-up (it wasn't his fault that Slitheen rat poison looked and smelled like pudding, was it?) that scared him. What if one day he wasn't in time to save them?

They had decided to keep traveling until the end. Lots of people had promised that. Rose had, Donna had… and look what had happened to them. He knew they were happy, but he always ended up alone. As he got older, it became more intolerable.

This time was going to be worse, he was sure. It always was. Each time he lost someone, he had to deal with the fresh pain while remembering the others, the people he'd left behind stacking up over the decades. The TARDIS had always kept record of them, bright paintings adorning the ceiling. He used to look up at them with fondness, but lately all his hearts held was regret. The paintings were fading, the more he tried to push them away. But the outlines remained, steadfastly reminding him of so many others like the Ponds, the wonderful Ponds.

He listened to them chat on and on about everything and nothing. They were so happy, but they were going to be so sad. He remembered what seemed so long ago, telling a widowed woman why her children should be happy, and he knew it was still true. Amy and Rory were going to be sad, so they had the right to be happy now.

And besides, the feeling might be nothing.

"All right, Ponds!" he shouted, bursting back to see a startled, sleepy Amy glare at him, Rory's hands caught hopelessly in her hair. "How do you feel about another trip?"

"Where to?"

Bad feelings be damned. He only had so much time with Amy and Rory, so he figured he might as well use it wisely. "How does New York sound?"


End file.
